So there I was, minding my own business, sipping on a glass of Miller Lite in the Kitchen at a friends birthday party (of course beer would have to be involved for this to happen, you’ll see). I decided to lean my back against the counter. Now at first this would seem like a generally reasonable thing to do, but a candle that was once sitting safely on the center island was now strategically placed perilisly close the edge of the counter I was about to lean on. “whew it’s getting hot in here” I thought. “What is this, menopause?” I mumbled to myself. As I slowly turned out of the corner of my eye, I see a flame. Yes, I lit my shirt on fire, and that puppy burned quick. Have you ever taken a lighter to your socks? (there may be a pattern here) If you have you know how the flames quickly scorch the fuzzies off the sock and then it just burns out. My shirt was covered in fuzzies.

I quickly brushed the fire out on my back with my hand and got the all clear sign from the guy next to me that the blazing inferno was out. Did I remember to stop-drop-and-roll like we practiced countless times as children? Of course not. So, I have some small burns on my hand – they’re just a couple of red dots.

Now the entire place reeks of burnt-me and there is a Pigpen-like-cloud (you know, snoopy’s dusty friend)of ashes billowing off me as I walk around. Many nicknames ensue.

Robbins, who I thought was going to lend me a shirt, beckons me to “come here”. He was actually running to get his camera because “This shit is just too funny” he said – so much for friendly concern. I spent the rest of the night getting ridiculed by the guy I’d been making fun of for smashing his face into a banister, he was bleeding. I tried to convince him that it was just like on Billy Madison when he splashed water on his crotch so the other kid wouldn’t feel bad, I was taking one for the team, honest. *grin*

no those are not skids burnt shit